


Something In the Water

by racheltuckerrr



Series: Something in the Water [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, idk swimming, there really isn't much more to it, two idiots falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheltuckerrr/pseuds/racheltuckerrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spaceparents swimming AU. That's it. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something In the Water

Laura Roslin starts swimming again the day after she finds out she has breast cancer. It’s not something that bears recognition, nor is it any kind of a statement on her part; she does it because she finds solace in the simplicity of the exercise. The speed and angle of her movements, the way the water slides between her fingers as she manoeuvres her body forward in the lane that no one else occupies due to the early hour – it’s something she can control, and she likes that. She needs that, now more than ever.

Truth be told, Laura has always enjoyed swimming; one of her many hobbies as a young girl that her life in politics and consequently tight schedule never allowed to continue, but that which she still carried a fondness for, even after all this time. However, no matter how much she would have wanted to, her busy life hasn’t allowed her to indulge herself in the things she used to do before, when nothing else mattered in the world but doing what made you feel right in your skin. She hasn’t had the luxury of thinking that way for a very long time. All that was about to change.

The next day Laura Roslin tells Richard Adar that she can’t be a part of his campaign anymore, or his life, because for as long as she lives she won’t be another man’s second choice. Him letting her go without much of a fight only serves to strengthen her conviction that she’s doing the right thing. 

And even though the world wasn’t ending, she felt like hers might just come to a close a lot sooner than she would like, sooner than she was ready for. She never entertained even the possibility that it might just be the beginning, instead of the end for her.

\---

William Adama has never been the kind of person who shied away from challenges. He was used to commotion, and being the one responsible for creating order out of it. He was used to being in charge, the power as well as the responsibility; of people listening to him without question or hesitation; the unwavering loyalty he commanded, and received. No one ever questioned his authority, or the man himself, and after a while he found that suited him just fine. If he was being honest with himself, he almost expected it.

After forty plus years in the military, having more people under his command than he ever had actual family, after having his own _ship_ ; he found that retirement wasn’t exactly all it was cracked up to be. Strangely, what he found the most disconcerting was the quiet tranquillity of his new surroundings. The stillness. And even stranger was the notion that it would ever bother him. But it did. 

And so he decided to swim; every day, bright and early, as a remnant of his schedule aboard Galactica. He never could manage to get used to lazy mornings and sleeping in, something always woke him up right before dawn; so he would go to Caprica City Pool and swim in the last lane to the left, the closest one to the entrance (some things you just can’t unlearn). 

He contented himself with making a routine out of it, something he could deal with, not to mention it would also be good for his health – not that he _actually_ cared about that; wasn’t really much point in it anymore anyway. The only family he had left was an estranged son; a daughter that wasn’t his; and a drunken friend who would follow him into the grave at the snap of his fingers if he didn’t drink himself to death first. Other than that, only the faint memory of his dead son and the daily reminders of his broken marriage – like the ring he still wore on his finger as a kind of penance, even after all this time – kept him company.

All things considered, Bill wasn’t quite convinced that this life had anything left to offer him at his age. He was gravely mistaken.

\---

After an hour and a half of pure naked joy, at being able to finally do something that served no purpose at all, other than making her feel like a _person_ again, someone who walked under the warm Caprican sun, made mistakes and tried her best like any of them, Laura noticed that she was no longer swimming alone.

On the other end, all the way to the left, there was a man, roughly her age or maybe slightly older, doing butterfly strokes, and, Laura noted after five seconds of discretely glancing his way, making it look damn easy. In her humble opinion, that was the hardest part about doing anything, ever, was tricking the casual observer into thinking they could do it just as well, maybe even better. Confidence was a dangerous tool, but just as indispensable in life; this she had to learn the hard way.

Laura would have wondered about the quiet grace of the man in the lane furthest from hers, but one look at the watch on the wall told her she was already late to her doctor’s appointment, so she got out of the pool and hurried to her locker without sparing him another glance. Picking up her phone on the way, and without really looking at it in her haste, she ignored yet another call from the person she supposed must have been Billy (he was so young, with most of his life still ahead of him, he didn’t need _her_ to take care of); Richard never called her anymore and any family she’s ever had was long dead, so the list pretty much ended there. 

\---

Bill not only noticed her, but after a while, he grew to anticipate the presence of the only other person who woke up at the same ungodsly hour just to be able to swim in peace, without the hustle and bustle of the City Pool in the broad daylight. They never really talked, but her technique was so mesmerising that he couldn’t swallow a complimentary comment as she walked past him the third day (not that he was counting), to which her only answer was throwing a half smirk over her shoulder at him before disappearing into the shared locker space. He’s still not sure if he dreamt the mock salute she gave him in greeting the next day. He must have, though he secretly hoped he didn’t.

They lapsed into a comfortable routine in the days that followed. He swims on the left, she on the right. He does butterfly, and she does breaststrokes, ironically. No one ever comes to swim in the lanes between them, because it is, quite frankly, frakking early for the average Caprican citizen. Laura and Bill prefer it that way.

She’s usually the first to come and go, even though their times usually overlap at least by an hour; at first only by coincidence, but she likes to think that he gradually comes in a bit earlier every day for the sole purpose of spending more time under the same roof with her. Of course, that would be complete nonsense, since they barely ever even talk to each other, their only interactions the lingering smiles that pass between them in greeting, as well as goodbye. As they unknowingly develop this routine, they never even realise the unlikely fondness that forms between them; they become companions, as much as strangers can be to one another. Together, but always apart; two separate entities bound together by the shared experience, somehow sharing more than just a swimming pool at the dawning of each new day.

\---

On the morning of Zak Adama’s birthday, Bill visits his son in the graveyard, thus arriving an hour later at the pool than he usually does; the smell of fresh flowers still lingers on his hands as he enters the dressing room at the same time as she does, pulling the towel from her slightly damp hair as their eyes meet each other up close for the very first time. 

Hers are the deepest shade of green he thinks he’s ever seen, and it reminds him of freshly cut grass, the mountains; a forest of evergreens. The other thing that immediately catches his eye is the unapologetic redness of her long, thick hair, even as the shade is slightly darker from the humidity than it normally would be. _He guesses_.

As his eyes skim over her womanly form, he realises that she is dressed to go; in denim jeans and a simple blue dress-shirt, and for a surreal moment he can’t quite decide if he likes her better this way, or when she disappears in the pool, commanding the water almost like a sea goddess of some sort; not a single frak in the rest of the world. He settles on both.

The intensity of this woman is astonishing, and he can’t quite wrap his head around all the life that seems to emanate from her; looking at her he feels like he’s staring into the sun. For an insane moment he thinks he should avert his gaze before she burns him, but then she surprises them both by looking him square in the eye, her lovely face breaking into a grin. 

“You’re late.” Her tone is light, teasing, but there’s an underlying feeling of something in her honey-layered voice, something he can’t quite put his finger on, so he opts to follow her lead.

“I’m sorry, _ma’am_. Next time, I promise I’ll try not to be.” And, as he leans down to open his locker and runs his hands through his hair, he realises he means every word.

“Good,” was all she said as she looked him over in what he hoped was an appreciative manner, and suddenly he feels like he’s a student being reprimanded by his favourite teacher all over again; not a retired military spaceship Commander. He wondered just what it was about this woman he barely knew, that completely threw him off balance in a way that not many others ever had. 

“So, same time tomorrow?” He really wished he didn’t sound so hopeful, or that at the very least she wouldn’t catch it in his voice, but somehow he doubts that’s even possible.

“Yes, _sir_.” Now, she was definitely being cheeky. He lifted his head to look at her, but before he could come up with anything else to say, she smiled sweetly at him, then turned the other way, bag on her shoulder, toward the exit. It was only after the mop of bright red hair disappeared around the corner that he realised he forgot to ask for her name.

He never misses a morning after that, and somehow she always manages to smile brighter at him upon his arrival than she did the day before. 

\---

The day Laura starts her cancer treatments is not particularly different from any other day, but the implications of it settle deep within her and wreak havoc inside her body, like the beast that is eating away at her from within, slowly, gradually sucking the life out of her. She’s not one for grand gestures or life-changing resolutions, so she goes about her day much as she usually would, and that includes her early morning swim – she would never willingly give that up – despite or rather because of the doctor’s warning that her body might not be able to take it for long.

If she is being honest with herself, it’s usually the highlight of her day, and whether or not it has anything to do with the muscular man with the impossibly broad shoulders who keeps looking at her like he knows her from another life; it makes no difference at all. But of course it does, it makes _all_ the difference in the world.

He’s taken to arriving around the same time as she usually does, so sometimes they get ready together in companionable silence; an unspoken agreement stretching between them that doesn’t require small talk, even if that is what people in their situation would usually do. Words have decieved her more times in her life than they had not, and she prefers the quiet solidity of this man over all the lies she’s been told by people she had ought to have trusted.

She learns many things about him through the ways of perception and she supposes he does too; for example that he shares her love of silence, breaking it only if what he wants to say is more important than the absence of it; or that he is former military, though she already figured that from the way he moves, and the awkwardness with which he still treats his civilian clothes; and that like herself, he is a reader, always carrying a book with him wherever he goes.

After the second round of treatment, she begins to feel the toll that her illness is taking on her not so youthful body; she feels it in her slightly slower movements, the slugishness that has replaced her grace in the water and the heaviness she feels every time she lifts herself out of the pool. It’s as if every single one of her limbs was replaced with lead and tied together by a rope at her ankles and wrists, making them feel like they are prisoners of their own right, and she quietly wonders how long it will be until one day they simply cannot bear the additional weight of her illness.

And even if her silent swimming companion notices the subtle changes that her body is showing, he does nothing to openly acknowledge them and for that she feels an unexpected wave of gratitude wash over her for the man.

\---

He surprises even himself, as he discovers the anticipation building up deep inside of him every time his internal alarm clock goes off in the morning; it’s been quite some time since Bill Adama was giddy with excitement, if ever, at the prospect of a new day. On second thought, probably never. And the reason for his excitement, out of all things, was a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

She was a mystery to him. The redness of her hair, the deep green of her eyes, and her smile most of all. He felt like a thousand questions lived in that smile, and he would have liked to find the answer to every single one. The only thing he knew for certain about her was that no matter when she arrived, she always left at the same time and he found himself wondering where exactly was she always off to in such a hurry. The possessiveness of the thought is what stops him from pursuing this line of thinking, but it’s not enough to keep his mind from wondering about her life.

Then one day, she wasn’t there when he arrived. That wasn’t unusual, but he couldn’t help his sense of foreboding after looking at the clock for the umpteenth time, wondering why she still wasn’t coming. He felt cheated somehow, and it made him angry at this woman he didn’t even know, and especially himself, for letting her sneak into his heart in a way that she already had the power to hurt him. He shook his head and chuckled humourlessly at himself, then headed for the showers to try and get a semblance of clarity. That’s when he heard the quiet curses coming from the dressing room, followed by a loud clatter, and he stopped in his tracks. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was her.

He hesitates only a moment, not wanting to disturb her privacy, but eventually his worry overcomes any potential embarrassment, as he enters the room. He would call out her name in warning, if only he knew what it was. He knocks on the open door instead, and she looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights; he would find it amusing if she didn’t look so damn frigthened. He wonders what that’s about, until seemingly out of nowhere, her lips start to quiver and she holds out her open palm for him to see, and that’s when he _finally_ understands. How he wishes he didn’t, though. However, the ever apparent irony of the situation is the last thing on his mind.

For a terrifying moment he isn’t quite sure what to do, but she looks so miserable that he can’t help but act on instinct as he crosses the dressing room in two long strides and takes her into his strong arms, hoping to ease her pain. That is all he can think about, easing her pain. She obviously doesn’t mind because she all but turns her face into his bare chest, one hand clutching him tightly, while the other – the one holding the offensive chunks of bright red hair, _her hair_ – balls into a fist at her side. He desperately wishes that somehow his hands could take it all away; the illness, the pain, the suffering, even the bags under her eyes that are so much more prominent up close, and he wonders how he missed any of it.

She seems to settle down in his arms, and by the flush that starts spreading on her face he can tell that she will consider this encounter a moment of absolute weakness on her part. That would explain so much about this mystery woman. She looks up at him apologetically as she takes a step back, clearly at a loss for words, so he decides to take initiative.

“So, is that why you wouldn’t tell me your name?” Not that he ever asked, not in so many words, but the implication was always there between them; the implication for many things, that they have never acted on, and now he begins to understand why.

“I won’t be around long enough for it to matter.” The resignation in her voice is almost enough to make him punch a hole in the wall, but somehow he manages to restrain himself.  
“It matters,” he says solemly, “to _me_.”

She regards him with something akin to wonder in her eyes, but then the tears start to gather in her green orbs and he knows she’s going to run, almost before she even knows herself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take long for her to catch up, and he’s left alone in the locker room, staring accusingly at the evidence of her illness where it had fallen down in the corner of the room; the feel of her in his arms still so fresh yet so elusive that he wonders if she was ever there in the first place. He has never felt so helpless in his life.

\---

After she got over the initial shock of losing her mane of hair, she buys herself some pretty scarves and settles into the dullness that is to be her life as a cancer patient, taking it in her stride as much as humanly possible. Having been there for her mother, she more or less knows what to expect, but the extreme fatigue and occasional stabbing pains in various points of her weakening body still take her by surprise. Despite your best efforts, you never quite get used to dying, apparently.

The only thing that brings a smile to her face these days is him – _Bill_ , she corrects herself. She learned his name the other day and was still getting accustomed to associating him with it, even in her head, because due to the uniqueness of their acquantaince, she has known him a lot longer without it than she has with it.

One day, almost as if on purpose, he leaves the book he always carries with him behind and she notices just before he steps over the threshold, where she can stop him. “Wait.”

He turns around and she’s about to hand his book back to him, but he shakes his head and looks into her eyes instead. “Keep it.” 

She has no intention of doing so, but she does run her fingers through the worn pages, her eyes catching on the inscription on the inside cover.

“ _Property of William Adama_ ,” it says.

“You can call me Bill.” His smile is still such a rare and welcome sight that she finds the corners of her own mouth lifting upwards as well, in spite of herself.

“Searider Falcon,” he adds, quite redundantly, the title having already told her that much, “my favourite.” The air is heavy with the significance that he would bestow something so precious to him upon a dying woman who refuses to humour him even on her best days; even as he does everything in his power to make her comfortable.

“It wouldn’t be wise of you to lend me anything, _Bill_. You might not get it back.” She leaves him behind, yet again, to ponder thougths of her mortality, his unaccepted gift still in his hand. “I never lend books,” he whispers to the empty space around him.

That’s the first time she outright refuses him, but it isn’t the last, and strangely, it only fuels his desire to care for her. So from that day forward, he relishes every moment they spend together, takes any chance he gets to show her that he is someone she can count on, if she so chooses. 

He tells her stories; about his life, his children, _Galactica_ , about whatever book he’s currently reading; sometimes he even reads certain paragraphs to her out loud, in an attempt to involve her in his experience. No matter what it is that’s on his mind, never does he stay silent anymore. She wonders what he hopes to accomplish, but she finds she doesn’t mind, she’s looking forward to it even; his smile and his annoyingly clear blue eyes, reminding her of crystals, still saying so much more to her than his mouth ever does. She wonders if that’s how it will always be, between them; then wonders why she even entertains such notions when not even her tomorrow is ever guaranteed.

\---

As she gets weaker still, sometimes she skips certain days of the week, feeling an unreasonable amount of guilt about it, as if she had let him down somehow, and she supposes she does, just as well. And yet, his smile never falters when he sees her again, only manages to grow wider every single time. She realises that might be because every day she leaves, he can’t be quite sure if he’ll ever see her again, and that fills her with more sadness than the thought of her own impending death ever did. So she makes a decision.

She finds him in front of the mirrors, toweling his hair dry, and her stomach tightens at the half smile he immediately sends her way. She wonders for a moment what it would be like to accept him into her life completely, without cancer, without reservations; so basically, in another life. Well, that would be another story completely, one she would definitely like to read. If she wasn't dying of cancer, that is.

“I’m gonna go,” she says, silently beating herself up at the awkwardness of it all, “and I might not come back for a while.” She looks deep into his eyes, willing him to understand. _Maybe ever_.

“But I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine without me around, so.” The lightness catches in her throat as her intended playful tone falls flat in the space between them.

“You know where to find me, in case you need anything.” Or _anyone_. They both know that’s what he really means.

“Yes. I do.” A beat, and then, because she feels like her gratitude is the very least she can, and should, give him. “Thank you.” She suddenly feels the threatening of tears, so she turns her back to him under the guise of adjusting the scarf on her head; not that she thinks it will fool him, as she wipes the single tear from her cheek. 

“I _will_ see you again.” He says it with so much conviction that the urge to cry returns tenfold, especially because she knows that he is the kind of person who only says what he means, whose word is supposed to be sacred. So she hopes for both their sakes that he is right.

She’s not sure if he knows that she doesn’t intend to come back again until the cancer is gone completely, not sure if he would understand. He is the first man other than her father who ever offered her anything out of genuine care and affection for her, without thinking of his own personal gain. She just can’t afford to let him see her break. She knows for a fact that that would be her undoing, not the disease. The cancer is in her body, but his pain would take it right into the depths of her heart, there is no way she would ever survive that.

So she does the only logical thing and refuses his offers of books, kind words, of holding her hand during treatments, and hopes against hope that he understands. If she knows him at all, he probably does.

She turns around to face him again after collecting herself, looks him in the eye and sees her own anxiety and sorrow reflected there, along with an emotion she dare not name that flickers just under the surface of his ocean blue eyes. She doesn’t know exactly how long they stand there in silence – the constant companion of their relationship, it would seem – but time loses its meaning as it stretches between them, like an invisible wall, separating them. Tearing her eyes from his is the hardest thing she thinks she’s ever done, and she doesn’t dare look back in fear that if she does, she’ll never be able to leave him again.

It’s only in the hospital that she realises he somehow managed to sneak Searider Falcon into her bag, and she smiles. At least she’ll have something to distract her from the agony her body is putting her through; not to mention it reminds her of him, as the worn copy still faintly carries his scent. It turns out that she was right in one of her many assumptions about the man, he does have incredible taste; the book is one of the best ones she’s read for a very long time, if not ever, and she can certainly see why he likes it. She likes it for the very same reason.

The treatments get worse after each new dose, just like the doctor said they would, and sometimes she wonders how much more pain her body can take before it completely gives out and snaps in half. In her weakest moments she almost regrets not taking him up on his offer to accompany her, maybe even hold her hand through the pain. _Almost_ , but not quite. 

Meanwhile, she keeps the old leather copy on her nightstand, so he never leaves her thoughts completely. She might be imagining things, it is one of the many side-effects of the medication she’s taking, but she could swear that reading _his_ favourite book seems to lessen her suffering just a tiny bit. Maybe even more than that.

\---

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t see her again for months, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. He realises belatedly that he probably hasn’t worried this much about a person in his entire life, but this discovery only serves to highten those sensations.

A month passes, then another, and he wonders if he’ll ever see her again. The possibility that he might actually not, is not something he is willing to consider, not ever. He never stops going to the place that is his only connection to the woman who unintentionally stole his heart. He will wait for her. He has waited his whole life for her, and he will continue to do so, until the day he sees her again. Some people would say he is an old fool, and he would be inclined to agree, not that that changes a single thing. 

Not for the first time, he wishes she wasn’t so proud to let him into her heart and into her life at this fragile state, but he can’t say he doesn’t understand her reasoning; even if she never actually shared it with him. He likes to think he knows her that much, and that she probably knows him too.

She never makes another appearance, but one day around the three month mark he finds his worn copy of Searider Falcon in his locker, and his heart leaps for joy at the implications of it. It leaps even further when he sees the almost unreadable yet somehow still elegant scribbling of what he assumes is her handwriting, right under his name on the inside cover. “ _Laura. Roslin. If you’re still interested_.”

\---

The day that Laura Roslin is finally, officially cancer-free, the sun is high on the sky and everything seems to be singing just for her. The ends of her bright red hair curl just under her ears and her one wish is to share the joy of remission with the one person who offered to share in her suffering; the one person whose offers she turned down repeatedly, but for whom she never once stopped aching. Bill Adama.

She doesn’t know what to expect, as she rounds the corner to the familiar building the next morning. There is no guarantee that he is even going to be there, it’s been over six months already, and she hasn’t exactly told him anything, so really, he was probably long gone. She never stopped thinking about him, but that doesn’t mean he felt the same way about her.

She stopped in her tracks, suddenly feeling uneasy, until she noticed another lone figure, standing much like her, frozen in place, on the sidewalk just across from her. Traffic was virtually nonexistent at this hour, so she didn’t even bother to stop herself, as her body recognised him even before her mind had the chance to catch up, her feet all but moving out from under her as she started running in his direction. He moved almost at the same time as she did, welcoming her weight into the safety of his arms, closing them around her like it’s something they’ve been doing their whole lives. She clings to his strong form, much like she did the day her sufferings truly began, and she feels the sting of unexpected tears in her eyes. She was finally _home_ ; there really is no other way of putting it.

He places a gentle kiss onto the crown of her head, into the brightness of her hair, as he whispers, voice raspy from emotion and fatigue. “Yes, _Laura_. I’m still interested.” 

Her ringing laughter fills the early morning air as it mixes with the singing of birds that signal the dawning of a new day in Caprica City, though most of its habitants are still fast asleep as the two people enter the city pool on each others’ arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think?


End file.
